Harry Potter Harry Potter Harry Potter

We're done with Harry in this household. The period of time where I am finished and C is not is somewhat tension filled around here since we hold firmly to the concept of not blabbing the bits of books or movies until everyone is done.

So no Harry discussions here. If you finished it and want to chat about it, email me.

But this is all irrelevant to the real attraction which is the boy.

It was birthday party weekend (and it should be a measure of how much we like people that we ventured forth into the world with HP unfinished). Saturday was Little Miss S's birthday, also known on this blog as the Biter. A didn't get bit. It was in a park; all the other birth class babies were there and there were tunnels and toys to play with galore.

There was a huge spread of corn-based food, none of which I could eat. I happened to be standing where the front of the line was when the announcement came to eat, so I gamely walked through the line and took a little of everything, while realizing that I could eat nothing. So then I found my husband (this is why married couples should circulate at parties) and said, "Look, honey, I got you a plate of food." At least everything that I could touch (no utensils for grabbing corn-husk-wrapped tamales, so no tamales on my plate).

This makes me feel slightly better about not killing myself to make sure I have wheat-free, gluten-free everything for our shindig this week.

Sunday we went to Terry's birthday dinner and that was fun, even if there was just too much going on for A. He was mostly fine, a little fussy but it was a long time. I'm feeling increasingly apologetic to my child-free friends because I just can't have a normal conversation any more. I'm trying but my brain's completely taxed. I'm trying to keep my baby occupied and happy first of all, and then second, I can talk to you. You're already coming in second. But then, I have to really concentrate to try and think of something small-talk-y or conversational and that's probably too much work. I don't want to talk about the baby, but I have very few other things that I'm spending my brain power on. Plus I'm consumed by envy of child-free people in restaurants because they don't have someone who is desperately interested you and only wants to be in your lap with a hand down your shirt. Well, you might have someone who wants a hand down your shirt, but you won't be changing his diapers in the next half hour.

The other things that I'm spending my brain power on are things I don't want to talk about, like the fact that I need to figure out whether the protagonist in my novel-in-progress is more of a girl who likes sour candy or sweet, exactly how much already-written back story needs to go and how sad that will make me because I really like the bit about Estefan quitting cigarettes, and whether I should submit my story about the safe for critique this week or the part of the novel where my protagonist meets up with her ex.

See, your eyes are glazing over already.

The tiny bit of my brain that's left is spent on the fact that the hornworms have spread to the basil which pisses me off and that I need to clean the house this week for the impending in-laws and birthday party. You know, remembering milk at the store.